August, New York & Us
by MochaInTheSun
Summary: There's a fine line between coincidence and fate. Love is somewhere in between. Sequel to "Creep".
1. Surprise

**A/N 1:**

**It was supposed to be a one shot but I cut it out in parts for easier editing **(●´∀｀●)**  
This time around, we'll look at the whole thing through Rachel's eyes – the way she sees things is different from Finn, hence the difference in my writing style, not too much though **(*^^*)

**i.**

Funny thing about memories is that they don't really go away, ever. They stay in our minds, pile up on the shelves and wait, as we live our little lives, as we bring more people to our heart and to our mind. Our wet retinas project the images, our eardrums vibrate to different sounds – countless, endless sounds. And in that colorful and chaotic festival of lives, there are certain people we can actually remember. Their faces reflect on the glass of an ordinary coffee shop; little things remind us about their features – the color of the ocean is the same as that of a certain pair of eyes; an untapped corner in a busy city brings back those scented days. Everyone lives their lives to find those certain people, that certain someone. Someone that we miss on a random August in a crowded city.

She has woken up, but stays still under the blanket, turns to her side and stares at the gold strand of light streaming through the gap between the two dark curtains of her room. A police's siren echoes from afar, the morning is slowly being built by sounds of hammers hitting on the concrete in construction sites and car honks. Rachel sighs and pulls the blanket over her head with an attempt to try to steal some more sleep.

"_Come here."_

_He crooks his fingers at her and lifts the blanket up, pats on the bed as an invitation. She pulls her hair up – she doesn't miss his gaze at her naked chest – and keeps it in a top knot with the wooden pencil he keeps on the nightstand. "I need to get a shower."_

"_Come on, R. Lie down for a minute, won't you?"_

"_I'm dirty, look at the sweat on my skin!"_

"_I don't mind. Come here, little R. Please" – He bats his eyelashes and makes a face, pouting his lips. She chuckles and climbs on the bed. He scoots over and she lays her head on his arm. The room's turned cold, the fire has died out hours ago, but she didn't feel cold then because of, well, their "activity". Now, she feels the hair on her skin standing up, little goose bumps start to cover her skin. _

"_Are you cold?"_

"_A little bit." – She nudges his side and by now, he knows it too well that she wants him to hold her. Finn wraps his arm around her waist, the other resting behind his head. Rachel can never really explain it, but she likes the feeling when he hugs her. Probably because of their height's difference – he makes her feel even tinier but protected. Warm._

"_Better?" – He whispers in her hair._

"_Mm- hmm."_

_He pulls the thin blanket over their heads all of a sudden, and she opens her eyes to stare at him in disbelief._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_Isn't this nice?"_

_She starts to paint on the blanket above her – circles, numbers, names and her feet kick the blanket lightly while she slides her fingertips against the smooth, silky and cool surface of the blanket."This reminds me of my childhood."_

"_Yeah" – He sighs and she turns to look at him; he's drawing things on the blanket too – "When I was young, I always do this. It makes me feel protected, you know? Like this is my own world now, and I could do whatever I want." – He chuckles, she thinks she can hear the vibration in his throat – "I used to hold up a flash and read encyclopedias under the cover. I could have been caught for other things, but no, I read encyclopedias, can you believe it?"_

_They both share a laugh then everything turns into a comfortable silence. She watches him spell words on the silky cover, and notices he has really beautiful fingers. Slender, gentle fingers._

_She reaches for his hand and links their two pinkies together, mesmerized by the size's difference._

"_Bonsoir" – He traces figures on her tiny hand and even though she isn't looking at him, she knows those amber eyes are on her, and their warmth seems to make its way to her body somehow._

"_Bonsoir."_

She startles as her cell phone which she has put on the wooden surface of the nightstand begins to ring – loudly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Rachel."

"Morning Char."

"Well, I just want to remind you that we have quite a busy day ahead of us. Let's see, erm, there's the new indie band, then we have a meeting with Mister East for the exhibition next week…"

"I know, I know Charlotte. I remember."

"Okay. Oh wait, what about that author? He's also having a photo shoot for his book."

"Who?"

"Finn Hudson."

**ii.**

She almost drops the phone to the floor but calms herself down by putting her hand on her chest and sucking in a deep breath.

"Finn… Hudson?" – She secretly hopes the blonde can't hear the trembling in her voice.

"Yeah" – Charlotte's exciting voice pierces through her ear – "You know, the author! I mean, Gosh, he's so fine; his eyes are all brown and stuff, and his body is super yummy, and he's so tall! I just want to…"

"Okay, okay Char. I've heard enough. Why didn't I know that we have a photo shoot with him?"

"What? Henry didn't tell you? I thought he told you, because he arranged for you to shoot Mister Hudson today."

"When did this ever happen?" – She stands up and furrows her eyebrows in anger while putting on her cardigan and slips on her bunny flip – flops – "Wait, hold up, Henry's calling me, I'll see you soon."

"Hey" – She greets him; annoyance is still present in her tone.

"Morning sunshine, how many clients do we have for today?"

"About that, Henry, why didn't you tell me about Finn Hudson?"

"Why, what? The author? Is there anything wrong?"

"Well…"

"Rachie, sweetheart, he's the next big thing, I'm telling you. His most recent book is already being considered one of the best for the past 5 years. We are lucky to have him in our studio. I mean, shooting for one of America's most famous authors is such a huge opportunity, you know? It really benefits our next week opening."

"Can you do it? I mean, if it's so important…" – She grabs the toothbrush – "What if I can't do it?"

"I'm in Ireland, Rachel. You know that. Besides, you'll be great. Don't worry. I have to go honey, and remember, you're Rachel Berry and soon to be Rachel Berry McClaine. Love you."

"Love you."

Rachel replies to the sudden beeping sound of the phone and slowly puts it down on the marble sink. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and studies her appearance. She doesn't look much different from the 18 – year –old version of herself, except for the dark circles under her eyes – not too dark – the signs of tiredness, of life impact on her. She takes the cardigan then the camisole off, standing only in her purple panties and looks at her body under the pale yellow light of the bathroom. She can see her ribs; she can see the curves of her tiny frame and the tattoo at her right hipbone.

"_When did you get this?"_

"_When I was in Paris."_

"_A bird?" – He touches it so softly with his rough fingertips and moves his head closer to her hip._

"_What does it mean?" – He asks without looking at her, his eyes are on the tattoo when he kisses it then gently nips at her skin._

"_Freedom."_

She slams her fists on the marble surface and puts her clothes back on, turns off the lights, turns off the memories then proceeds to get ready for a busy day ahead.

**iii.**

"So that's my idea of how you should display your work."

"I think we should change a bit here and there. I mean, let's make it more organic and truthful, you know? We should…"

"Miss Berry" – Mister East with his hair slick with gel shining under the bright white lighting in the studio clasps his hands together and leans forward – "With all my respect, I think I have been working in this field more than you, and this is the best way we can introduce your work."

"I don't agree, look, we need less lighting. Let's just put a frog –eye light bulb under each of my photos, then some dangling round bulbs from the ceiling, and that will be enough."

"That won't draw enough attention. You need more technology."

"My exhibition is not all bout technology…"

"Rachel?" – She hears Char's high voice and looks up to see the pretty blonde tentatively pushing the door open.

"Please come back later Char. I'm talking to Mister East. Look, as I was saying, I think we should focus less on the technology and this is…"

"But Rachel…"

"It's okay, I can wait. I showed up a little early anyway."

It's the moment when she first understands what people say when they mention "your heart skips a beat"

She slowly looks up and she can see, as clear as crystal, there he is, standing behind Char, giving her his sweet lope –side smile when their gaze meets.

"Hi R."

**iv.**

She asks Mister East to meet up again another time to discuss further about the exhibition and tells Charlotte to take him downstairs to arrange an appointment. Soon, there are just the two of them standing in the square studio of hers, with white and blue walls and wooden floor. She ducks her head and maneuvers around to gather her gadgets while he stands still; she feels his eyes on her when she looks away.

"This is nice" – He finally says, she hears the sound of his shoes on her wooden floor.

"Thank you." – She answers while fixing the light strobes, her back facing him.

"So, who was it back then?"

"Erm, he's a guy helping me with my exhibition next week." – She turns around and sees him looking at the apple painting on the wall.

"Really?" – He turns around and his eyes wide with surprise – "You got an exhibition next week? Congrats R!"

"Yeah, it's been really nice. So…" – She rubs her hands on her black skinny jeans – "Shall we begin?"

"Sure. What do I do now?" – He walks to her, with his usual long strides and soon, his built body is towering her small one. Moments like this takes her back to those days – all those days covered with a golden shell and glittering hours of being a carefree, wild and reckless 18 – year –old; knowing that there's always that one person who will love her no matter what she is capable of.

"Okay, sit on the chair and just relax."

She steps behind her camera and begins shooting while her heart keeps beating wildly against the thin material of her white tank top.

She looks at his face through the lenses and all the while studies his appearance. His skin has become less pale, the freckles on the bridge of his nose are still prominent – she used to love tracing them with her fingers. His eyes are still the color of amber, but now she sees a spark of a new color – brighter, gold even. His brown hair has some grey in it and he leaves on his scruff. She's actually loving this new look on him.

"You look good" – She says between the sound of the camera.

He smiles and looks down at his feet – she quickly snaps the scene and chuckles to herself – after all this time, he's still shy whenever she compliments him.

"Okay" – She zooms the lenses a bit – "Give me The Thinker".

"I'm sorry?"

"The Thinker, pose like the statue."

"Oh okay".

"So…" – The usual clicking sound of the camera echoes in the room – "Congratulations on your new book."

"Thank you R. I couldn't believe it when my publicist called me and said I got my first best seller. It's been crazy ever since."

"Yeah? I think, no, just hold it, okay, well, I think that you deserve it." – She looks up from the camera and smiles at him. She's calmed down, being able to take his pictures without shaking her fingers.

"Did you read the book?"

She can't tell him she wanted to; she can't tell him she always keeps herself updated about him ever since that day in Paris. She can't tell him she thinks of him too often these days.

"Not really. What's it about?" – She looks back at the camera and catches a light shade of disappointment on his beautiful face.

"Us." – He chuckles, his eyes still at the ground, his hands clasped together then he looks up to meet her gaze.

She's looking back at him and almost touches the tension in the air. Everything becomes silent except for his steady breathing and her rather quick one – she can taste it – the almost solid air and ringing sound of her heartbeats.

Time stops – little molecules in the air are floating around them, twirling and dancing into strings of scented old days and stirring up in her chaotic heart feelings she thought were long gone. Being here with him – the air between them squeezes into an invisible box whose width is within 5 little steps – is almost too much for her to bear. She wants to finish the shoot, she wants to shake off whatever she may be feeling at the moment, but staring into those sad amber eyes keeps her feet glued to the ground.

After a silent explosion, he stands up from his feet and walks to her. She immediately takes a step back, but before long he's standing in front of her – and here they are, years after that first time when she showed up at his front door – oh how she longs for the days – Rachel still feels as small as she did back then. She adjusts her gaze to the ground – and whispers:

"Please, Finn".

She's not sure what she's asking him to do – or perhaps not to do – but she asks him again, "Please".

He sighs and slowly lifts his hand to cup her face, his thumb traces the little mole she has on her left cheek. She closes her eyes almost immediately and lets out a trembling breath – she hears his heartbeat and his breathing closer, and closer, and closer…

There are knocks on her door and she can hear clearly the chirpy voice of her blonde secretary through the door:

"Hey Rachel, Henry's on the phone. Should I tell him to call you back or…?"

She looks up and their eyes meet. He's questioning her – waiting for her.

"No, I'll be there in a sec." – She answers while still looking into his eyes.

**tbc**

…**..::::….**

**A/N 2:**

_**Wotzzzz uppp? Thank you so so so much for all of your reviews! There you have it guys, the sequel to "Creep"! I'm moving to Australia this week for 3 years to study so I guess my update time is going change **_**︿**

_**Again, thank you for all of your support and please please please leave me reviews! Kisses and hugs! **_**(****づ￣ ****³****)****づ**


	2. Here We Go Again

_**Chapter 2: Here We Go Again**_

**i.**

"Okay, hmm, yeah, okay I love you too."

She puts the phone down slowly and sighs; props herself up with both her fists on the table. She closes her eyes and stands there for a while – listening to the sounds of the city rushing by outside the window of her studio on the 7th floor. She tries to calm down and pushes the moment away – his hot breath, his calloused thumb and the tingle when his skin touches hers. "This is just so stupid" – she mutters to herself.

"Is everything okay?" – Her eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah" – She paints a smile on her face before turning around – "Everything is great."

He silently nods his head and looks at her while she keeps her eyes on the ground. He shoves one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck before breaking the silence between them.

"Look, R… I mean, Rachel. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"It's… It's nothing, really. I guess, well, I guess that's a wrap. I will pick the best shot and e – mail it to your publicist as soon as possible." – She quickly turns around and gathers her stuff scattering on the table; secretly praying he will walk away. Just walk away – as softly as when he comes to her – and leaves her here, in the city where every corner seems to be filled with flower – filled memories.

"Do you really hate me that much?" – He asks, and she can almost taste the bitterness in his voice.

She stops and drops her things on the table; sucking in a deep breath before answering him in a merely a whisper:

"No" – She turns around slowly and looks at him. He has his eyes on the ground, both of his hands in his pockets now, his head hung low. And it kills her to see him like this.

"No" – He looks up at her; his eyes seem to be almost gold – "I don't hate you. I can't ever hate you. And that pisses me off."

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, leaning back against the table and stares into his eyes. Funny, she never knew how much she misses his eyes until now. She misses the color of it – she remembers when she was just a child, she was quite fascinated with his eyes – she thought they had the best color ever. Most of the time they were light brown, but sometime they were a mixture between gold and amber.

She hates how she is still fascinated by them now.

He chuckles and is about to move closer to her but she quickly turns away and asks:

"How long are you staying in New York?"

"Just til tomorrow" – He immediately steps back – "I still have a reading and a party with a publishing house in Los Angeles before heading back to Paris".

"That's great."

"What's your plan for the rest of the day?"

"I'm supposed to meet with Mister East to discuss in further details about my exhibition next week, and then I'll have to see the location."

"Can I come with you?"

Her eyes go wide with disbelief, "What?"

"Look, I promise I won't cause you any more trouble. I haven't been in New York for at least 10 years. I want to go around and perhaps, you know, draw out some inspirations."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course I'm sure."

Before she can say anything else, he's already walking out of the door and calling out for her, "You drive".

**ii.**

The drive has been strangely comfortable so far. She really wanted to laugh when she saw him struggling to fit both of his legs into the small space. She has the windows and the roof down – she loves the gentleness of the August wind passing by. They drive pass several familiar places; he would always smile when they do, "That's the coffee shop I used to go every Sunday morning when you were in Paris", "Oh no…They replaced my favorite music store, god they had the best vinyl records". And she would turn to look at him from time to time – without him knowing, of course. He rests his chin on the arm propped up against the bottom edge of the window, the other on his lap – tapping a rhythm with his slender fingers.

And he'd smile – a smile she rarely saw when they were together. Back then, his eyes were always so sad – and he only smiles for her. But now, he's smiling with carefree and a bit of satisfaction – completion.

She wishes she could smile like that.

He turns around and catches her glance. Caught off guard, Rachel keeps her gaze and nervously awaits him to say something; he doesn't though.

Instead, he stares back at her and gives her a smile – and she sees it in his eyes.

He chuckles and closes his eyes, then leans his head back and soaks in the sunlight. She remembers him mentioning something about closing his eyes under a direct source of light. "Dancing" – is all she can recall.

They keep driving pass the trees whose green suits are turning into a shade of yellow while he camouflages himself with sunlight and everything beautiful she has ever seen.

**iii.**

"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it might take long and you'll be wasting your time…"

"Rachel, I'll be fine. I'll just walk around here and look at all these paintings, they seem to be interesting."

He puts both his hands on her shoulder and turns her around, gently pushes her forward and chuckles in her ear, "Go!"

During the whole time, she's not so certain how many of what Mister East's words actually make their way into her mind, because she'd steal some glances with him from time to time; he'd give her a thumbs up then turns away to look at the paintings on the coffee – coloured walls of the loft and she'd look at him still; watches his eyebrows furrow and his lips set in a straight line in concentration and when he looks back and forth to make sure nobody's looking; he'd touch the painting and smile to himself.

And she'd always force herself to look away, to stop herself from smiling.

"Miss Berry? What do you think of it?"

"What?"

"The new setting." – Mister East furrows his eyebrows and pushes his glasses up on his crooked bridge of nose.

"Oh…" – She takes a quick look at the model on the table –"I think it's better than the last one, but I still don't agree with the way we're approaching my work."

"Miss Berry!" – The old man raises his voice – "I have already told you! What you are asking for is simply not suitable with our vision. We are thinking of a more modern, ravishing, scandalous exhibition."

"Scandalous?"

"Putting the third segment of your work upfront will definitely cause some news."

"I don't think you understand my work. It's not for the purpose of stirring up some reputation! Your boss didn't choose to support me for it!"

Everyone around them has grown quite, exchanging looks and whispering to each other.

Mister East nervously looks around him and snaps back at Rachel:

"It's just not our thing."

"Well then…" – She meets Finn's gaze and his lopsided smile –"I guess I'll have to find another agency. Thank you for your time and goodbye!"

Without another word, both of them walk out of the building under the stares of people.

All of a sudden, she feels the warmth of his hand around hers.

Rachel looks down just too see he has taken her hand in his, still walking with his eyes forward. Then he turns to look at her, and smiles.

She knows absolutely nothing but one thing, and she lets him hold her hand and take her back to what she felt when he saw her crying at the staircase back then.

"You're crazy." – He tells her as they approach her car.

"All the best people are."

**iv.**

She flips through her memories with him and asks herself questions she knew the answers to but perhaps too scared to actually speak of. Sitting here with him – his built torso leaning back against the arm of the cheap but comfortable couch tucked in the corner of a café – sipping coffee and not talking in the most perfect weather New York has ever granted gives her this strange sensation she was certain she would never feel – not with Finn.

Guess she's wrong.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Finish this coffee" – She tells him.

He chuckles – she wishes she could capture the vibration inside that throat of his – "About the exhibition, that's what I'm asking."

"I'll find another location, it's alright. I may have to pull some strings but it'll work out." – She puts the cup down and rubs her hands together – "It's going to be a real pain in the ass but I'll manage."

"That's what I'm talking about! Although, I feel like we should drink something stronger than coffee."

"Finn, it's 4 the afternoon."

"Who cares?"

"I still have to finish my work" – She covers her face with both her hands – "I still need one last piece for my exhibition".

"What do you need?"

"Something close to me, something personal. Something that will give people one chance to actually understand me, what I see, how I see it."

"I know just what to do".

Moments later, she finds herself walking with him around New York with no actual directions (she called Charlotte to drive her car home). He refuses to let her lead the way, says he'll draw them out from his memory. She says his mind has been stuffed with too many sounds, his eyes have projected too many images – too many tastes – how can he possibly remember all?

"Oh I remember" – He tells her.

Once again she plays the role of a hopeless romantic, wandering around a beautiful and alive city to find her muse, with a handsome stranger (oh no, no, he could never be a stranger) and perhaps, this will end in a perfectly dramatic novel way, where the two make love at the end of the day and bid each other goodbye as the sun comes up. Then she'll live the rest of her life in peace; with dreams sometimes will lead her back to him.

She remembers that day in Paris. She's been wanting to talk about it ever since he got here, but she's afraid. Afraid that if she mentions it, he'll hate her. And as strange as it may sound – with regards to her peculiar actions in the past – she never wants him to hate her. Yes, she's _that_ selfish.

"You said you wrote your book about us. Can you be more specific?" – She asks him as he's observing and apparently amazed by how much New York has changed.

"That day in Paris, do you remember?"

"No" – She adjusts her gaze to the ground, tucks a strand of hair back – "Not really."

"Well" – He sighs and shoves both of his hands in his pockets as they walk – "There are two people, a man and a woman, they used to love each other. They had one last day together in Paris, and just like what we did, they walked around and discovered their past and present, and the guy, well, he was falling for her again. She got on the boat with him and they promised each other they'd see each other again 3 months later, at the same time, in Paris. They didn't exchange phone number or address – maybe because they were stupid".

"Sounds familiar" – She chuckles bitterly – "Did they see each other again?"

"I wrote two versions. One, as published, they did see each other again, and lived happily ever after. The other, well, he saw her again 3 years later, she's married, but he convinced her he was the one and they also lived happily ever after".

"Why didn't you choose the second one?"

"It's just so cruel, you know? In the end, someone gets hurt. I don't like it."

"Well, it's love, isn't it? It's supposed to hurt".

"Then why didn't you leave him?"

She stops in her tracks and stares at him in disbelief. She thinks he may be joking, but it's not the case. He's also stopped, turned to stare back at her. She sees so many things in his smooth brown eyes – anger, foremost; sadness; disappointment.

"Finn…"

"Why didn't you come to Paris as you promised me?"

"Finn, it's not that easy" – She continues walking, avoids his gaze.

"You always make things sound so damn complicated. You said you wished he had been someone else; you got on the fucking boat with me and what? You're still with him now?"

"Stop acting like this" – She raises her voice and stops to glare at him – "You said you wouldn't make me feel uncomfortable."

He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath before looking back at her, "I'm sorry. I crossed the line".

She bites her bottom lip and avoids his gaze for a moment before sighing and says:

"Why do we always do this?"

"It's who we are, R."

"And what exactly are we?" - She whispers, her voice lost among the joyful noise of New York afternoon.

**v.**

The drive back to her studio is filled with solid silence. He keeps looking at everything but her, she keeps looking at nothing but him. He has his hand next to her thigh - she wants to touch it. Just touch it - her fingers'd dance on his rough skin, drawing patterns with the soft tips. He'd intertwine their fingers together, caressing hers and make her skin crawls with goosebumps. She'd close her eyes and feel her body heating up, there'd be this familiar hunger for sex with him, for wanting to feel his skin on hers.

_He holds her in his arms - pale but strong arms - as they lie together, fully clothed though, bathing in the tranquility of the soundless evening. She's ready - ready to tell him she loves him. Of course it's not true - but it's not a total lie either. She doesn't know anything but how good it feels whenever he holds her like this, not sex - no, she can't sleep with him now. She sighs - her back against his front, his arms around her waist, the hair on his arm turns gold under the streak of light. He's humming an old Russian folk song - and asks her again if she loves him.  
_

_"Meet me again, here, when you're ready for me." - He says.  
_

_"Here?"  
_

_"Yes."  
_

_"When?"  
_

_"Whenever you're ready for me, for us."  
_

_"How does it work then?" - She plays with the hair on his arm.  
_

_"I will come here every 3 month at exactly this time and wait for you."  
_

_"You're not afraid that I'll not be here?"  
_

_"I love you" - He kisses her nose and strokes her hair - "That's what I believe in".  
_

_She sighs again, he asks her why,she doesn't say anything but inches closer to him if possible, closes her eyes and lets him serenade her to sleep with his whispers of I love you, Je t'aime mon cheri...  
_

_Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?(1)  
_

He follows her up to her studio - they are the only people left. She feels his eyes on her again - the hair on the back of her neck stands up. The sound of their shoes touching the floor echoes through the room - smashing on silence and reflects.

"Did you take this?" - He asks.

"Yes" - She walks to where he's standing and looks at the photo in his hands. It's a really young girl smoking, with her skin all pale, distant eyes, leaning on a wooden door, behind her is an old house with its chimney breathing smoke.

"It reminds me of Lolita, as Dolly Schiller".(2)

"It's beautiful".

She turns to look at him and immediately is taken back by how mesmerizing he looks. The sunlight barely lights up all of his features - he's standing in a graceful dance of shadow and light.

She takes his photo and doesn't realize she's moving closer to him - shots after shots - until he's only a breath away.

"_Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?_" -He says.

**tbc**

**A/N:**

_**You guys! OMG It's been too long! I'm really sorry for the wait! Now that I kinda settled down in Melbourne, I'll find the way to finish "August", but bear with me on this, okay? :(**_

_**This chapter is a result of much discontinuous work :( I'm afraid it'll fall short to your expectations and I'm really sorry. No, I won't make any excuse, bad writing is bad.**_

_**Please, please leave me reviews and tell me what you think, I'll try my best not to let you down again.**_

_**Thank you for your support and lovely, LOVELY reviews!**_

_**(1): Carmen, voulez - vous venir avec moi? **_**Carmen,do you want to come to me?( from "Carmen" by Prosper Merimee)  
**

_**(2): Dolly Schiller: **_**Lolita**


	3. Lolita In My Arms (The Last Time)

_A/N1: MY LOVELY PEOPLE! I'M BACK!_

_This is the last chapter :( __ I really hope it lives up to your expectations. Please don't skip any part __ Enjoy and thank you!_

_**Chapter 3: Lolita In My Arms (The Last Time)**_

**i.**

She watches the light and shadow melt into each other's embrace and dance on his face. You' d have to be the most melancholic poet, with a heart filled with painful romance to describe the beauty of his face – the delicate brush of sorrow has coloured his features. He moves closer to her – his lips trembling, whispering to her:

"Voulez – vous venir avec moi?"

She doesn't want to think any more – she has done enough of it – so instead of pushing him away, she captures his lips with her teeth – biting on his bottom lip, drawing blood. He hoists her up on the table, devouring her mouth with his. There, oh yes, there, his wet tongue on her own, their teeth clack, he's bruising her lips, he's pushing her onto the wall behind them. She feels as if her skin was on fire – hot, burning, red, insatiable – as she kisses him. These lips, oh how she has longed for them! He stops to rests his forehead on the crook of her neck, she hugs his head with both her hands, panting, squirming to get more.

The flash of the camera startles both of them.

He pulls away from her, but still has his hands on her ass. She turns to look at him and the lipstick smeared on the corner of his lips. He stares into her eyes while wiping the sweet trail of red lipstick with the back of his hand. She shivers.

She turns away from him when he tries to kiss her again, squirming to get out of his embrace – trying to stop the sensation her body is giving her.

"Finn…Ah…"

He nips at her skin, panting, trailing wet, open – mouthed kisses on her neck. She bites her bottom lip, eyes shut.

"Stop, wait, Finn, please…"

"I can't stop now, Rachel."

"Henry…"

Finn pulls her from the table – a little too forcefully – and wraps his arms around her waist, lifts her up completely from the ground.

"There is no Henry, Rachel. There's me, and there's you."

She slaps his arms, kicking around, being the child she always is when he's around.

"You're wrong, Finn."

"Am I? Why did you kiss me then?"

"There's no reason. Put me down."

"Fine".

He drops her onto the floor, "phmmph"; she falls down on her back. He hovers above her – his eyes have turned into an indescribable color – perhaps, an endless, bottomless well of pure gold.

She swallows, watches him slowly kneeling down and bring a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He rubs his thumb over her cheek, then the left corner of her lips. He lingers there, and whispers to her:

"You know what I would give to make these lips mine to kiss?"

She gasps when he moves closer, cups her face with both his hands and kisses her forehead.

"Were you ever mine, Rachel? Please tell me, were you ever mine?" – He closes his eyes, enfolds her in his arms and rests his chin on the top of her head.

She closes her eyes and breathes in his scent. She feels the beating of his deliciously pain – filled heart through the smooth material of his blue shirt – the heart he has promised to give to her so many times, if she just says she loves him.

Does she love him?

She loves being in his embrace – his arms would enfold her and keep her warm, his voice would tell her everything would be fine, and yes, he'd sing to her. She loves tracing the freckles on his nose – the little brown spots always intrigue her. She loves watching how the light changes the color of his eyes – how she seems to see a million of worlds in them – floating, drifting. She loves the days with the desolate sky, the inutile loveliness of several daffodils groves on the sidewalk and he would hold her hand, and she would let her soul fly around him, and the rest would be shaped into a perfect little bundle of lovers, and lights, and bars, and people.

It wasn't love at first sight – there is no such thing as love at first sight – but when she thinks about his touch, she knows that's how she's supposed to be touched. That's how she's supposed to be loved, with his fingers studying her outline, his lips finding the little mole on her neck, his body warm, melting into hers.

She slowly puts both her arms around him and whispers, "Yes".

He doesn't move.

"Yes" – She holds him a little closer – "I was yours once. I've always been yours".

**ii.**

She doesn't know how much time has passed. New York seems to be awfully silent now. He's still holding her, breathing steadily. She guesses she has fallen asleep in his arms – now they're lying together on the floor, still fully –clothed, her head on his chest, their legs – silky bonds.

"Hey" – He says.

"Hey" – She sits up, her chin on his chest.

"You're not leaving him, are you?" – He asks, not looking into her eyes, stroking her hair, curling them around his fingers.

"No" – She kisses his chest – "No".

"Why?"

"I can't, Finn. This is not a fictional story. I'm real, Henry's real".

"And I'm not?" – He tilts her chin up – "What am I?"

"You can hate me. You can hurt me."

"I will, I will hate you. I will hurt you".

"Do it. Hurt me" – She moves so that she's straddling him, her hair caressing his face.

He immediately pulls her towards him, sits up to close the distance between their lips. She plunges her tongue inside his mouth, feeling the soft muscle moving against her own. She tightens her arms around his neck as he roams her back with his hands. He thrusts up lightly, and with a voice she barely recognizes, she begs him for more. His hands move to her front, kneading her breasts as his teeth sink into the skin of her neck. Eyes shut, she sighs, her fingers find their way to unbutton his shirt.

"Wait, wait…" – Finn breathes out – "Rachel…I can't do this. I can't…"

"Finn… Please don't say his name." – Rachel sighs, rests her forehead against his.

"This is not about him. This is about us, Rachel. What are we doing? Why are we doing this?"

"Finn…"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes".

"Yes, she says. My girl says yes" – He smiles but it quickly falters – "Then be with me. Love me."

"I am loving you" – She kisses his lips – "I always will."

"No, you're marrying him. I'll die of jealousy Rachel. Do you wish to see me suffer?"

"Finn, there's no place for us in this world right now. I love you, Finn. I've made a horrible, terrible mistake but at least we know I love you. You. You, and no one else."

"That's not enough" – He kisses her chest and she raises her arms for him to take her top of – " That will never be enough."

"It's not. I'm so sorry baby. I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm sorry. I wish I were braver, I wish I had more strength. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry".

Her hot, opalescent tears drop and touch his skin – running along the hair on his chest and arm. He wipes the tears on her face with his tongue, he kisses her eyes and cheeks before moving to her lips. Her bare chest touches his, and she would have given up anything to always feel the shiver running along her spine like right now, with her body enfolded in his arms.

She knows she's torturing him, loving him like this. But she has always been selfish that way. She loves him. She loves him. Him, with his hair grey, distant golden eyes and built body, pale skin, French accent. Finn. F – I – N – N. Oh yes, she's selfish, vicious. She's troubled, tormented – but _I love you, love you_!

His lips find her hard nipples and she closes her eyes, stretches her arms over her head, exposing herself to him. He sucks hard, his tongue comes out playfully to lick the little nub. She bites her bottom lip, and whimpers. How could she not realize that she was made for him to touch? It's powerful – his touch – there's nothing else like it. "Open your eyes" , she hears his voice whisper to her, and obliges, only to stare into his chestnut eyes, filled with such tenderness and uncertainty – and always, love. She lets out an audible cry and cups his face with both her hands, "Please, I'm so sorry, I love you Finn, I love you…"

He sighs, his eyes brimmed with tears now, and they both close their eyes when grazing each other's salty lips. His hand moves to cup her sex, her fingers trembling as they unbutton his jeans. They work frantically to take the rest of each other's clothes off; as soon as they're done, he pushes himself into her – he grunts, she moans, their skin slapping. She raises her hips and widens her legs – she wants to feel him to the fullest this time.

"Yeah, yeah,…" – She chants –"Oh God, oh, yeah…"

"Turn around" – He orders, sweats running down on his beautiful chest.

She bites her lips and does as told – her body shaking from anticipation. Here she is, on her hands and knees, ready to be fucked from behind, in other cases she would feel degraded and insulted, but not with him. She knows she has nothing to fear when she's with him.

"Ah!"

Suddenly she feels him inside of her – the new position gives him a different advantage. He thrusts mercilessly into her – stronger than any other time they have done this. His fingernails leave marks on her hips as he continues pounding into her. The sound of their wet skin slapping turns her on even more. He wraps his arm around her body, pulls her up, her back against his chest and bites on her earlobe.

"Finn, baby, I'm so close, but let me turn around."

"Why?"

"I want to see you, please…"

He does as she says, turning her around to face him. She immediately kisses him – a perfectly sensual French kiss, while he circles her clit and keeps on thrusting.

And her skin is on fire, and she sees the white sky with its colossal violet clouds fanning out, that afternoon, with him in the small car under the oak tree. Poetically, helplessly, inevitably, she comes.

They cry the entire time.

**iii.**

She doesn't want to move away – she wants them to melt into one. She wants to become a part of him, she wants to see with his eyes, she wants to feel the rush of blood inside his body. He pulls the thin blanket to cover them, but she swats it away.

"Wrap me with your body instead" – she says.

He chuckles and does what she asks, wrapping his arms around her and puts his legs over hers, enfolds her entire body in his embrace. Once in a while her opalescent tears will fall down on his chest, and she uses the back of her hand to wipe them away. She hates herself for doing this, she knows she can never look at Henry and not think of Finn. She knows she's his now – nothing can ever change it.

Loving him is her only choice. As she lies with him, as she feels his warm skin on hers, she wonders about other women who have felt the same way with him, who he has touched and loved.

"How many women did you love before me?"

"None."

"And after me?"  
"None."

**iv.**

The piano sits quietly and lonely at the corner of her studio. Dust has formed on the keyboard – she feels the softness when running her fingertips on it. The air around them is thick and fragranted – a mix between her Dior (Forever and Ever), her almond scented candles and his very distinctive smell. Skin glistening, she wraps the thin blanket around her waist and sat down on the chair and presses down on the keyboard. The note flicks through the air, vibrates like a violin string.

"You play piano?" – He comes up behind her, his hand on her hand.

"I used to".

"Play something for me then" – He sits down next to her, uses his hands to put both of hers on the keyboard.

She presses the keyboard in a hesitant fashion, trying hard to make a decent melody.

"I haven't played in ages, Finn." – Rachel is about to stand up when the keyboard vibrates as Finn presses down on it.

He starts playing a soft melody she doesn't know. Rachel watches in amazement as Finn's fingers mesmerizingly moving on the keyboard – gracefully. His eyes are closed, his upper body slightly moves back and forth as he plays. A waltz.

She sees Paris. She sees the light and the way his fingers brush against hers when they walk. She sees that hazel iris in his eyes and his slightly grey hair. His body. The place. The memory. The love.

Rachel starts to plant kisses on his neck and along his jawline- she thinks he has the best jawline – and moves to face him. He's still playing when she licks and bites his earlobe, her hands playing with the hair on his chest and his arm. She turns around, her back to his chest, he adjusts to fit her posture and they begin to play the piano together. She's surprised at how good she is, after such a long time, and truly amazed by how good _he _is.

High notes, low notes. All tangle together. High notes, low notes. Silky strings. It's as if they were painting the dots, connecting it with a pencil. They're trying to draw a line, from point A to point B, for the hope that one day, their love will be easy and simple.

But she knows that one day will never come.

She hasn't realised he has stopped. She's not aware of her tears on the white keyboard, she's not aware of the melody she's playing. He tilts her head to nips at the skin on her neck, she rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed, she brings her hand up to touch his face. The blanket has been dropped on the ground. He massages her breasts, kneading them with tenderness and care as they kiss, hungrily. He takes her hands in his and brings them down to her clit, slowly rubs it in circles and when he knows she's ready, he guides her fingers inside, pulling in and out, starting slow then speeds up as her breathy and impatient moans fill the air. He closes his eyes, rests his forehead on her shoulders. Suddenly, with one hand still controlling her, he brings his other hand to her neck, then wraps his long fingers around it. She gasps as he presses down on her veins, the feeling is almost unbearable.

"I want you to be mine forever, Rachel. I want you so bad… What if I don't let you breathe? What if I add a little more pressure? No one else will ever be able to make you feel like this".

"And no one will" – She quickly turns her head and captures his lips, swallowing both of their moans.

Later, when his fingers are pulling her hair as she sucks his cock, between grunts and moans, he tells her he's sorry and that he loves her.

**v.**

"Why can't we be together?"

"Love is only beautiful when it is not complete".

"You don't believe that, do you?"  
"I feel like, if we get together, that's it, no more, but if we can actually long for something, eventually it will transcend into something else – almost ethereal – and as we grow old, it will only get better".

"Hmm… Never thought you would say something like that. It does make sense in a way, but Nabokov says the more you revisit a memory, the stranger and weirder it becomes."

"And…?"

"I don't want to revisit you in my memory" – He says – "I want to be with you", he kisses her forehead – "Forever".

"But we'll be together" –She sits up and looks into his eyes – "We'll be together, in your words and in songs, in the summer, in the sun, in the nights, in my heart, in your heart" – He's crying again, silently, tightens his arms around her tiny body and she wishes she were not such a selfish, decaying human being for doing this to him, to Henry and to herself. She wishes he didn't love her and she didn't love him.

**vi.**

She drives him to the airport the next day. She doesn't care to look at all the luggage he puts in her backseat – she doesn't want to think about the fact that he is going away, she may never see him again. Feel him again.

He doesn't say anything really, just occasionally, words like "Careful Rachel", "Woah, slow down a little bit" would come out of his mouth. Bon Iver's voice fills the air, the sky looking like shining gems through the tiny gaps between the leaves on the yellow trees along the roads, the handsome man with sad brown eyes sitting next to her keeps looking out at the window.

30 miles.

25 miles.

10 miles.

3 miles.

The airport is right in front of them – Terminal 3 is where he needs to go to. She hands him his luggage, their fingers brush, her body is once again feels like it was on fire – from the simplest contact. He looks at her through his golden eyelashes and tilts her chin up with his finger, to look into her eyes before kissing her forehead and walks away.

She doesn't wait until he disappears in the crowd of strangers, Rachel gets into her car as soon as possible. Pedal to the gas, and drives away.

By the time the airport has become a blurry illusion behind, she finds it strange that the sight in front of her is not so much clearer. At first she thought it was raining, so she turned her wind shield's wipers on - but no matter how hard they were trying, the sight in front of her couldn't get any better.

She pulls over and sits in her car for what seems like forever, waits until it clears out.

Thing is, it wasn't even raining.

**vii.**

"Are you leaving me?"

He stands there, in the sweater she bought for him years ago on their 3rd anniversary, his eyes filled with disbelief, confusion and anger.

She bites her lips and nods, looking at the ground.

"For whom?"

"Finn" – She says, looking up, scared, tired, hopeless. "I love him".

"Finn Hudson? The writer? For how long?"

"Since I was 18."

"You've been with him since you were 18?"

"No, I've loved him since I was 18."

"You are lying" – He runs towards her and grabs her arms forcefully, pulls her up straight – "You're lying! We've been together for more than 7 years Rachel! You can't say that to me! I don't believe you! We're happy! We're getting married!"

"I'm sor…"

"Don't you fucking say it! Don't you dare say you're sorry! Sorry for making me look like a fool?"

"I don't know what you want me to do" – She tries to escape his tight grip but it seems impossible.

"I want you to tell me why? Is he a good fuck? Is that it?"

"Don't do this" – She pleads.

"Tell me, is he good?" – Henry lets her go and steps back, looking at her as if he was disgusted by her – "Is he better than me?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth" – He leans back to the wall then slowly sits down, covers his face with both his hands.

Rachel starts sobbing and walks quickly towards Henry, kneels down and touches his arms lightly before choking in her own tears:

"Oh God Henry…" – She covers her mouth with her hand – "I just… I don't love you anymore. I tried, I…" – She sucks in a deep breath before speaking up – "I tried not to think about him. But he's always there, Henry, he's always there. And when he came here, I just… I needed him like I needed air. And I missed him so much…"

"Please stop" – Henry's blue eyes are red and filled with tears – "Please stop…"

"It's not fair to you, or to him. I have to do this" – She leans forward to hold him – "You made so happy for a while Henry".

"I have no choice but to watch you leave me to be with him?"

"No, I can't be with him. I can't be with anyone. That's my punishment. He's better off without me, you're better off without me. I'm sorry".

"Please go Rachel…" – He pushes her lightly – "Please go now…"

She sobs and kisses his forehead, then with her luggage in hand, walks out of their apartment.

**viii**.

"What's the inspiration for this exhibition Miss Berry?"

"Love and what comes with it" – She blows out the white smoke and watches as it dances in the air.

"Is that a too general theme? Almost every artist in the world has done it. Could you be more specific?"

"Well, it's the most beautiful kind of love – the unrequited kind, the incomplete kind. It's also the saddest kind, when two people cannot break their own walls to be with each other".

"Is this drawn from your own experience?"

"Isn't art a form of story – telling? Isn't every work a biography itself?"

The reporters nod their heads and people clap and congratulate her as the night goes on.

She walks around the loft, proud about her work and receives compliments from almost every famous photographers, editors and critics of New York for her work this time. This is exactly how she wanted her first exhibition to be – simple, with dimming yellow lightning complementing all the black and white photos.

Henry was supposed to be here, she bitterly remembers. Guilt is still there – every single time she calls Charlotte to catch up about Henry. Apparently he has moved back to London, and now he has another girlfriend – who turns out to be Charlotte. Rachel sighs, every one deserves happiness, except for her, perhaps.

She stops at the most beautiful – and most well – received photo placed in the middle of the loft. His face is so peaceful and calm, his eyes bright, the graceful dance of light and darkness surrounding him captures every single beauty she could ever wish for in a photo.

She's about to take another sip from her glass of champagne when she hears his voice.

"You were right, I did look good in that shirt".

She closes her eyes, smiles and sucks in a deep breath but his arms are already around her, his breath hot on her skin as he kisses her neck, "Hello".

"Hello, Finn".

She turns around to see Finn - a handsome man with the most alluring brown eyes she has ever seen, a light touch of scruff on his chin, dressed in a grey suit with black tie, who bends down to kiss her lips, ever so lightly, so lovingly.

The man she loves.

"I thought I'd never see you again"-She whispers again his lips, her arms around his neck.

"This is the 21st century we're living in, don't you think you were being dramatic?"

She chuckles, and there is no music, but they sway to the beating of their hearts.

She realizes that even if people put her in a crowd and tell her to find him with her eyes closed, she would still be able to. She knows him too well, she knows his heartbeat to well. She's not sure if she's deserving of him, but right now she knows she needs to be with him.

Perhaps today is the day, when she can go from point A to point B, on a straight line, and afterwards – most of all, afterwards, she'll meet him halfway, and together they'll finish the design that they have always yearned for. At last.

"I love you" – She kisses his chin – " I'll love you forever".

"Forever"- He rests his forehead on hers – "Starts today".

**THE END**

_A/N2:_

_Ahhhh that's it guys! Thank you everyone for reading my ff and leaving me awesome reviews :) __ Please, please let me know what you think about this last chapter. I really want to know( certain people from my Tumblr family, I'm looking at u :P). Once again, thank you so much! And hey, hit me up at my Tumblr:mochainthesun .tumblr. com; I'm always there _

_THANK YOU AND TIL NEXT TIME!_


End file.
